


Scars

by Xyriath



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU - Comicverse
Genre: M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-02
Updated: 2013-03-02
Packaged: 2017-12-04 03:08:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/705822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xyriath/pseuds/Xyriath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas Elliot gets what he wants, one way or another.  More or less.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scars

Tommy could hear the deep moan beneath him as his teeth worked into a muscled and scarred shoulder.  He smirked against the red marks they had left, running his tongue along what was going to be an inevitable bruise.  His fingers gripped the hips below him, snapping them up as he thrust again into that tight heat.  The smirk turned into a grin as the man below him let out a choked gasp, then moaned again, his next breath a shuddering exhalation.  The noises… god, the noises were what he had always imagined Bruce would make, everything he had fantasized and more.  As he continued to move, he bit down again, harder, in the same spot, drawing a few drops of blood from the shoulder even as he drew a yelp from its owner.

His mouth left the spot, licking up the depression of the bare spine, tongue tracing up the back of a neck until his nose met thick, black hair.  He buried his face in it for a moment, letting it muffle his low chuckle, continuing his thorough and relentless fucking of the man on his hands and knees below him.

There was another choked gasp as Tommy’s teeth sank into the shell of an ear, a shudder down that spine that Tommy felt in his dick.

“God, you love this, don’t you?” he whispered hoarsely.  There was a pause below him, and Tommy responded by simply thrusting into him harder.  He could see hands scrabbling to find a purchase on the bed, fisting into the sheets in an unsuccessful attempt to steady their owner.  _That’s right, Bruce_ , Tommy thought viciously.  _Tell me how much you want this._

He could see the jerky nod of the head from behind, sweat-soaked black hair shaking at the movement as Tommy lowered his hand to squeeze a thigh, tauntingly close to grabbing a dick but not quite there.  “G- _god—_ ”

“Shhh,” he whispered, sliding his hand further up the inside of the thigh, which earned him another groan.  And then he squeezed, drawing out a muffled yelp from a mouth that had been quickly smothered by a pillow.

“Well, at least you tried,” he murmured around the mark he was sucking into a trembling neck.  “But then, I suppose there’s really no hiding it, is there?”

A surge of satisfaction at the head shake.  _I’ll always win, Bruce.  There’s no use even trying._

He leaned back, allowing himself the opportunity to appreciate the view.  A broad back, scarred with years of pain and bowed with temporary pleasure.  Tousled black hair, begging to have fingers in it, tugging, yanking, to expose that neck to seeking teeth.  And the way he had pressed his face into the pillow in an unsuccessful attempt to muffle the soft, sharp cries that now accompanied every rough movement of Tommy’s hips.

Tommy was close now; they both were, if the noises were any indication.  Tommy’s hands settled back on hips, fingers digging in again.  He wasn’t feeling particularly generous this evening.  Let the bastard work for it.  He leaned forward again, just slightly, not close enough for his mouth to wreak any more havoc but at the perfect angle to end up balls-deep in someone’s ass.  He felt his own breathing growing ragged as he closed his eyes.

When he came, it was with a muffled groan that had the man below him echoing the noise.  But the tension in those muscles was still there, and Tommy knew that he was the only one who had finished.  _God_ , to have him shoved facedown into the bed, writhing like that, positively _squirming—_

“ _P-please_ , Jesus, I gotta come right now—”

A surge of anger and annoyance shot through him at the words.  They were wrong, all wrong; the cadences, the pronunciation, the filthy _accent_ that belonged in the Bowery.  They shouldn’t have been here at all.

Tommy pulled out, rolling his eyes at the whimper.  The head that turned to look over a shoulder at him only increased his annoyance: the eyes, wide in lust and confusion, were too grey to be the right shade of blue, and Tommy wanted to seize the lock of white hair framing the wrongly-shaped face and rip it out.  He settled for tangling his fist in the back of the young man’s hair instead, forcing his head up and exposing his neck.

“Don’t you dare,” he hissed, flicking his eyes down in the direction of his crotch in case there was any confusion as to his meaning.  With another tug, he yanked the head sideways again, turning it so he wouldn’t have to look at that face.

As he yanked his clothes on, he glanced back over his shoulder.  The man didn’t seem to have moved, shaking aside, not even to get himself off.

Good.

Tommy knew he had no way of knowing that both of them had been pretending to fuck the same person tonight.  But Tommy knew it.  Reveled in it.  Because if he didn’t get Bruce, at least he could have this.

It was a victory, of a sort, over Bruce, wasn’t it?  And with one last look at the sight he had left, a gasping mess with sweat and come cooling between its legs, he slammed the motel door and walked away.


End file.
